Shared Perspectives
by Sherlock Emrys
Summary: An old alliance between two people with a similar point of view. Could be read as shipping, isn't really. Oneshot.


**AN: Sorry about the slightly random bit that was here earlier. I accidentally uploaded a few of my notes from my word doc.**

**Yes, this is a bit strange, and for once I can't blame it on Lydia. **

**It's not technically shipping, or it wasn't intended to be. The body of this was written on my phone between midnight and one in the morning, and although I've subsequently cleaned it up a LOT it's still not really my fault. Mostly. Although I admit that the idea of Loki and Morgana interacting is strangely beguiling, and possibly would make a good OTP, I have no plans at all to make this romance, since when I try and write romance bad things happen. And plots explode. And stuff. So yeah.**

**This is a oneshot with no follow up planned.**

* * *

When they meet first, it's pure chance. He is running through the realms almost blindly, not quite as smoothly as he later could. He's new to the art of transportation, and he hasn't entirely mastered it.

He was aiming for the realm that he had only just begun to build, to spin from the raw nothing that filled the space behind the seconds. But he was angry at something – some raw injustice – and he missed it entirely, throwing himself through the gaps between the molecules and into her world.

He stumbles from the portal with clumsy grace, a shadow of the elegant self he would become. Luckily, nobody is watching and he recovers his balance expertly. Looking around, he sees instantly that this is not his realm, but it is not a place he knows. A quick glance around tells him that this is Midgard, a realm he has visited many times, but no place that he knows. Which is probably just as well. He has a whole clan after his blood since that whole incident with the ring.

He's in a wood somewhere on Earth, and that's all he knows. But while he's here, he might as well look around. He's curious, and he's already forgotten his anger. He hears voices and the thud of horse's hooves, and he walks towards the sound.

She's riding a white horse and laughing. He doesn't think much of it; she's pretty, but not enough to catch his interest. She appears to have no real purpose, no destination; riding just for the fun of it.

Later, he learns that she is riding with her brother and their servants, and he scowls, reminded of his own anger and hurt at whatever petty injustice sent him running to this dimension. But he doesn't interfere, declare his presence. Better just to watch from the shadows.

Besides, it's much more fun this way.

Idly, and with some amusement – his malice has faded now and he's honestly just looking for entertainment – he hexes her brother's horse to throw him off for the rest of the day, watches him tumbling to the ground a few times in amusement, then leaves.

But not before he notices the slight tingle of magic in the air, and watches his hex snap and break and the horse calm. The servant's eyes are fading back from gold and he merely notes with interest that no other member of the party seems to have noticed.

Just to be contrary, he replenishes the hex and makes it stronger than ever, then reaches for the darkness between the dimensions and lets himself fall.

* * *

The second time they meet isn't for a while. He has taken to travelling to this realm just to get some peace, and he likes these woods.

She is hurrying through the trees, her red cloak swirling behind her. It's not exactly subtle and he can hear her coming a mile away, but it's stylish and impressive and he approves.

He walks quietly through the dark shadows, drawing the night around him like a cloak. He's wearing hunting garb, not his full armour, a dark tunic and worn leather boots. The sounds of the dark wood surround him as he moves, the rustle of leaves and the squeaks and hisses of a dozen small animals and insects. He follows the girl through the night, and he can't quite say why. But he recognises a familiar expression on her face, a set to her mouth and a glimmer of hatred in her eyes that he knows all too well.

He watches quietly from a distance as she meets another person – blonde hair and ice blue eyes, and enough of a family resemblance to be obvious. She's a sister, probably, or maybe half-sister. They have magic, that much is obvious, and he's a little surprised because last time he saw her he was fairly sure that she was unaware of the power she held. Now she seems to be aware and in control, although she's sloppy and untaught.

When her sister leaves, she stays there for a moment before turning to go herself, and he chooses that moment to step forwards and let the shadows drain away from him.

She starts back and her eyes are wary, her hand on a dagger at her belt. 'Who are you?'

He inclines his head. 'I have… several names. You can call me the Liesmith.'

'What do you want with me?' she asks, and he notes with approval that she hasn't dropped her guard.

'Nothing,' he says pleasantly. 'I am merely… passing through.'

'From where?'

'I come from… a long way away. I come here occasionally to get some peace.' He smiles humourlessly. 'My family are… less than ideal.'

She relaxes just a little. 'Well… Liesmith. Why are you here?'

He shrugs. 'I was walking and I saw you.'

'You saw me?'

'It isn't difficult when you wear that cape,' he comments with a smirk. 'If you wish to remain undetected, I would recommend a more subtle wardrobe.'

* * *

The next meeting went fairly well. Neither of them died, at least. They managed ten minutes of civil conversation before they started fighting.

He has the advantage, he considers. Before she casts a spell, her eyes flash gold for a second, and it's just long enough to prepare a counter-spell.

He spins, holding out a hand, and the blast of light deflects and bends around him, hitting a tree, which becomes a slightly surprised flock of birds and flaps away squawking. He smirks and she scowls, muttering in some unfamiliar language and holding out her hands again. He runs towards her, drawing a dagger as he does so, and casting a quick spell. He feels himself grow grey and indistinct, an image of himself project just a little in front of him continuing his trajectory while he himself veers to one side, making his way around behind her while she focusses her curse upon his doppelganger.

Her eyes widen as her spell shoots straight through him and she spins around, pushing him away with both her hands and her magic too.

He flies backwards and impacts with a tree, sliding halfway to the ground before being stopped by the vines growing from the bark and wrapping their way around his hands and feet. He struggles against them, dropping the dagger in his hand to the ground, and she smiles and waves a hand. The blade jumps into the air and holds itself above his throat, hovering over his artery.

She smirks cruelly and makes her way towards him, stopping a little way away and looking up at him.

'Well?' he says, arching an eyebrow, apparently unconcerned by his position.

'You should have known better than to cross me,' she says arrogantly. He smirks.

'I had thought that you were worthy of respect. Clearly, I was wrong.'

Her face turns furious and she gesticulates sharply, sending the tip of the dagger flying sharply into his neck. He chokes and goes limp, as blood begins to flow down his neck, and she stands there for a moment in shock.

She had assumed he'd dodge. She'd thought he would turn the blade. She hurries forwards, eyes flashing gold, and the vines release him, the blade falling from his throat.

She catches him, leans him back against the trunk, and tips his head to one side to study the wound in his throat.

His eyes flash open and his hands shoot out, catching her by the shoulders and twisting his body, throwing her sideways and pinning her to the ground.

He smiles down at her mockingly. 'Perhaps you should have known better than to cross me.'

She mutters a spell and a shockwave ripples out from her. It should have thrown him backwards and away from her, but all that happens is that he flinches, pushed backwards a little, but not loosening his hold on her. She grits her teeth and flicks one hand, summoning a dagger, thrusting upwards into his ribs. The wound on his neck is gone, and there is a large gash in the bark of the tree he was held too, and the illusion he'd cast is gone; she's furious with herself for falling for it.

He vanishes from his position a moment before the blade swishes through the space where he was, and she uses the momentum to scramble upright and locate him again, across the glade. She runs across the space towards him and casts a spell as she does so, rooting him in position, but when she reaches him he dissolves again as though he were naught but fog.

'You really like that trick, don't you?' she comments breathlessly, smiling a little in spite of herself. 'Or is it merely the only magic that you are capable of?'

With that, she vanishes, casting an explosive spell at the ground at her feet. When the smoke clears, she's vanished, but he doesn't drop his concealment yet, he knows better than that.

He is standing in the shadow of a spreading ash tree (and he appreciates the irony, yes), under a charm of displacement. He's confident she can't see him, but he's been wrong before.

And he is again, as it turns out.

A rustle near his feet draws his attention, and he looks down to see a small rabbit hopping past him.

Now, that's odd. That any rabbit, or indeed any living thing, hadn't already been scared off by the supernatural energies being flung around the clearing, and that it's so close to him.

He hasn't survived as an Aesir for so long without developing some self-preservation instincts. And this is his speciality.

He grins and wraps the magic around himself, changing his shape effortlessly and becoming a fierce wolf, which bounds after the rabbit with gaping jaws.

The rabbit hurriedly becomes a snake as his jaws are about to close upon it, and rears up in his face with a hiss, fangs dripping venom.

He becomes a mongoose, not a form he uses often but his best tactic, and the snake recoils before becoming a lioness. In answer he changes again, this time to a charging buffalo. The lion shrinks and takes to the sky, the huge wings of an eagle sending a backdraft down to scatter leaves with every beat. In answer he becomes a griffin, taking to the air in pursuit.

When he catches up to the eagle, it merely wheels with breathtaking aerial dexterity and lands on the griffin's broad back, before becoming something he can't turn his head to see but is far too heavy to carry, and which he has a suspicion may, in fact, be her human form.

He plummets with the unexpected weight, trying to beat his wings before giving up and assuming the form of a winged horse instead, the increased wingspan enabling him to glide to the ground a little clumsily, before reassuming his own form. He twists to see what the weight on his back is but finds she is pinning his arms behind his back and he can barely turn his head, and it looks as though he was right, it was her own form.

He debates throwing her off but opts instead for his own favoured weapon of words. 'You're _heavy_,' he comments shortly. 'You nearly made me crash.'

She is, at least, sensible enough to ignore the comment about her weight. But she doesn't shift herself.

'Are you prepared to give up?' she asks coldly.

He tries to shrug, but it's not easy in this position. 'What if I do?'

She debates it for a moment. 'I would be prepared to form an alliance.'

He pauses. This is promising. 'In order to discuss the terms, would you be willing to move? This is far from comfortable.'

A pause, and then her weight shifts and she stands up. He levers himself up off the ground and cleans the dirt from his clothing with a wave of his hand.

'Well?' she says harshly.

He raises an eyebrow. 'What would I gain from an alliance with you?' The tone is neutral. A simple enquiry.

She narrows her eyes. 'I have power.'

He waves a hand. 'Some. But it is undirected and untaught. You need to learn focus and control. Besides, my own power is unmatched throughout the Nine Realms. Next.'

'I am rightful Queen of Camelot,' she says after a pause. She's rattled. He smirks.

'My dear, I am a Prince of Asgard. I have no need of another kingdom as of now. And should I wish I could rule your petty world.'

'If you are a Prince of Asgard, why do you visit our _petty realms_? Why do you seek me out?'

He pauses. She has surprised him. 'I was in need of entertainment and my brother's idea of amusement is hunting some poor defenceless beast for miles, killing it, and then drinking all night. Forgive me if I preferred a slightly quieter location.'

The sarcasm is subtle enough that he knows his brother would have missed it totally, but she understands. With a smirk, she nods.

'That is a familiar story. My own brother is of a similar level of intelligence.'

He smiles. 'Perhaps we are more alike than I thought. Tell me, what would you hope to gain from an alliance with me?'

His question catches her off guard a little but she recovers admirably. 'Your magic might be of use to me allied with my own and my sister's.'

'Indeed.' He considers her for a moment. 'You have more power than you realise, you know.'

She looks away. 'Well?'

He pretends to consider it. 'In return for lending you my power, I ask for… a favour.'

'A favour,' she says sceptically.

He smiles. Or at least, his mouth moves and his teeth are showing. 'Indeed. You would owe me a favour.'

She's smart enough to know what that means, he can see that. She knows that he could ask her for anything, that it is merely a thinly disguised invitation to total control. He could ask her life, or her kingdom.

'A favour,' she says aloud again, but this time her tone is considering. 'And its nature? I am sure you appreciate, I would be a fool to pledge myself with no knowledge of the nature of the request.'

The corner of his mouth twists up. Good. She knows how this game is played. 'As of yet, I do not know. But in the future, should a situation arise where I require your aid or that of your descendants…'

'Descendants?' she says with only a hint of surprise.

He tips his head, inscrutable. 'My lifespan far exceeds that of yours. It would be a great shame should you die before I can reclaim what I am owed.'

'My descendants, should there be any, are not concerned in the bargain,' she says immediately. He nods – he expected that.

'Then should I require it, you, or another that you appoint to act in your stead, shall be bound to aid me.'

'One time only,' she says warningly.

'Of course,' he says smoothly, bowing his head. He had hoped she would miss that, as so many mortals did.

'And you may not ask for anything that will incur the sacrifice of my life, or the life of those I care about.'

He frowns but acquiesces. 'Very well. You do, of course, have the right to refuse a request twice. The third time of asking, however, you must fulfil your debt.'

She tilts her head. 'So if you ask me for something and I say no, you have to go away and think of another thing to ask me?'

'Precisely.'

'You cannot make the same request twice,' she warns.

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. After all, were he in her position he would be asking the same conditions and he is pleased, on one level, that she is as intelligent as he thought she was. It would be a shame to waste his time on her otherwise.

'I agree to your terms,' he says formally.

She hesitates before nodding. 'And I to yours.'

'Then the bargain is sealed,' he says with a cold smile, and holds out a hand. She takes it reservedly. He holds her hand for a moment, then releases it and steps backwards. 'I must take my leave of you now, my lady.'

She inclines her head formally. 'And when I require your aid?'

'You may contact me wherever you are by calling for me,' he says smoothly. 'That's all you need. My name, and a little magic. I will come as soon as I can.'

She nods with finality. 'Then it is done. A pleasure to meet you, Liesmith.'

'The pleasure was mine,' he says. 'And my name is Loki.'

'And mine is Morgana,' she says with her trademark smirk. He bows formally again, then allows himself to fall backwards into the nothingness between dimensions and vanish from her realm. As he does so, he conjures up an illusion of his form dissipating into smoke, because there's no harm in a little theatricality.

* * *

When she calls him, he is standing in his father's palace, and he is in the middle of a bitter disagreement with Thor. Seeing the call as the perfect excuse, he waits for his brother to finish whatever he was saying, then turns away. 'I must go,' he says dismissively, and steps into the black nothing of the space between worlds. The last thing he sees is his brother protesting furiously and reaching for him, and he smiles cruelly as he steps into her world.

'Lady Morgana,' he greets her. She looks to be as happy as he is, scowling at him angrily. She is standing in a glade in a wood, and it is night time. "And how is your brother?" he asks condescendingly.

She hisses and strides away from him, cloak swirling dramatically. He approves. "He is _not_ my brother," she all but chokes. "They lied to me, he lied to me, my so called _father_."

He knows the bitterness in her voice, he's heard it from his own lips time enough.

"He is no brother of mine. Always treasured, always favored. He's promised the throne- as if he could ever rule. Him and his precious battles, his favorite fighting... He could never be the king they need."

"And you could." It isn't a question. He shouldn't egg her on quite as much, he knows that all too well, he's been there, but he can't resist. He knows how she feels. He agrees.

"I could be a queen!" she hisses as she spins around, eyes blazing. "I could rule this land, I would be the leader that they need! Let the little Prince play with his toys, his weapons, his soldiers. I have magic beyond his comprehension!"  
He grins. It is unsettlingly familiar. "Magic is a powerful tool," he agrees smoothly. "Those who are not gifted with it fear it."

She tilts her head in recognition. "Your brother?"

His smirk turns sour and he grimaces. "He has no conception of what it means to wield true power. Thor always was infantile, thinking with his muscles, no concept of strategy, of a war fought with words."

She nods. This is a familiar litany. "You and I are very much alike," she comments.

He bows his head. "Your story, too, is familiar. My father," he says with a bitter twist to the words, a welter of resentment lying hidden, "also did not see fit to disclose to me the nature of my heritage. My darling brother, too, is but a fool, a bullish boil-brained buffoon, caught up in his blind love for the man who raised us."

Her lip twists in disgust. "Arthur is the same. Blind to all but his thoughtless devotion to Uther. I keep hoping someday it will get him killed, but he leads a charmed life."

He sees an opening and smiles cruelly. "Let me make you a bargain."

"I'm listening," she says with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. This, after all, must have been why she called him; she is unlikely to have risked reminding him of their pact for anything less.

He leans in closer. "You… take care of Thor. And I will destroy Arthur in return."

She appears to consider it. "Arthur does not know you. You could well make your way into his confidence."

"And Thor does not know you. Not that it is precisely difficult to sneak up on him anyway."

She laughs at that, quietly. He draws back a little, aware of how close they are standing. "Well?"

She is about to reply when they hear shouts, tramping footsteps. He looks at her questioningly. He sees a look of familiar hatred on her face.

"Arthur?" he queries.

She nods disdainfully. "And his group of loyal fans."

He can't help but smile. But- "We need to move." They're coming this way.

She nods, leads him to a nearby tree, with a crack in the trunk. It's just large enough for them to hide. He slips into the narrow gap and she joins him, pressed against the bark opposite him. He can see her eyes clearly in the dark, especially as they flash gold as she murmurs, "Tenebrae!"  
He tastes the tang of magic on his tongue and knows they are hidden in a veil of shadow. It's neatly done, if a little amateurish. She has talent, lots of it. He could teach her.

It's a thought that surprises him, being bizarrely generous. But she has not harmed him, and teaching her may well prove to be of use to him someday.

Besides. He likes her and he thinks the feeling's mutual. At any rate, she can be of assistance.  
He turns his head to see out into the moonlit clearing. He wants to see this famous Arthur.

A group of knights enters on foot. There are several men, but he knows which one is Arthur. Blond, blue eyed, chiselled features. He carries himself like a king, undeniable nobility in his gait.

His gut twists. It's sickening. He can see his brother in this man.

Beside him, she is equally tense. He can feel the hatred, bitterness and resentment, and when he glances at her face he sees it in her eyes. It is like looking in a mirror.  
The other knights are setting up camp. One starts to light a fire, while another unpacks a bag to reveal some food.

"Still no sign of her," the one with the floppy hair is saying to Arthur. "She may be using magic to hide her trail."

Arthur looks pained. "We'll find her. We know she is nearby."

He nearly laughs at that and she does too, he can feel the silent mirth shaking her shoulders. He looks so earnest, and he's righter than he knows.

"Arthur, maybe we should head back tomorrow," says a scrawny looking man he hadn't noticed before. He's not a knight. A servent, most likely. "Your people need you as a king, and we can't risk you being killed."

Arthur just glares. "Merlin, this is important. I know you don't seem to understand, well, anything, but if we don't find Morgana she'll just return, attack Camelot again. More people will die."

She's smirking again. He doesn't even have to look. Maybe Arthur is smarter than Thor. At least he seems to know what he's dealing with. He glances at her questioningly and murmurs, "Attack again?"

She shrugs, unrepentant. "I'll tell you later."

"And this won't take long, anyway," Arthur continues. "She's not used to living out in the woods. She was never trained. She'll probably be totally out of her depth."

He takes it back. It looks like Thor finally has an intellectual equal.

The talk moves on to other things and the knights are unpacking bedrolls. They're settling in, and the two of them are still pressed far too close together for comfort.

"Shall we go?" he murmurs in her ear.

"How?" she breaths back.

He smirks. "Allow me." He wriggles slightly in the confined space and manages to worm an arm around her waist. She looks set to curse him but he closes his eyes, reaches for the space between the realms and lets the darkness of the impossible nothing swallow them.

Dancing between worlds is easy when you know the trick of stepping in the space behind the seconds and dancing between the atoms.

His feet hit solid ground again and he opens his eyes. They are in a safe place, his place. It's a little reality he built for himself, atom by painful atom, and none may enter save him.

He grins down at her. She's dizzy and dumbfounded, and he's missed having this effect on people.

"What magic is this?" she gasps, not pulling away from him. He keeps hold of her lest she swoon, but she is made of stronger stuff. A warrior, he thinks, approvingly.

"My magic," he replies, smug. "Throughout the Nine Realms there are none who have my power."

Her eyes are hungry. "Teach me."

"Perhaps," he says nonchalantly. He cannot just say yes, that would be too dangerous. A gift, and not a bargain.

"And this place?" she says, pulling away.

"My world," he replies. "Only I can enter. You are the only other person to whom I have ever permitted access."

She looks over, and her eyes are dancing. "You honour me, my lord."

"It is you who honour me, my lady," he replies courteously, with a slight bow. He knows how this game is played.

They don't trust each other. That would be foolish. But they each bear a debt towards the other, and neither can rest easy until their debt is repaid. Eventually, a kind of equilibrium is reached. They both owe the same amount, and are thus neither able to claim ascendancy over the other. But they can rely on the other to comply with requests at any time, because it will give them an advantage, and place the asker in their debt.

It's a long time since they met. Neither has yet achieved their goals. But they keep trying, both reaching eternally for a sense of justice that is forever just out of their grasp.

He is amused to find, on a visit to her world, that she has taken his name and become Morgana La Fay. It's her tribute to him, and it is, she says, better than Pendragon, and besides, he took the name of Lafeyson for precisely the same reasons. Because he could not stand to bear the name of a man who was not his father.

'Well, my lady,' he says dryly, 'I suppose that makes you my betrothed. Traditionally, I was lead to believe, this involved asking first.'

She flushes a little, and they both laugh, but privately he is determined to ensure that none of his acquaintances on Asgard ever visit this part of the realms. He would never hear the end of it.

And although they have never publically been linked to one another, and when their names are recorded in song and story – as they unquestionably will be – they are never connected, they come to rely on one another, over time. After all, it's always useful to find someone who shares your point of view.


End file.
